I started researching today for a poetry activity I'm going to do with my kiddos in a few weeks - I'm straight up stealing a WCP lesson where you just continually throw poems at kids almost all hour and then ask them what they did and didn't like. Very simple, but when you're dealing with kids and poetry, especially with 6th graders who think poetry always has to rhyme, it's all about exposure. Anyway, I realized I would need to find a LOT of poems that are appropriate for this age group, and I didn't want to be all lame and obvious about it by photocopying a bunch of Shel Silverstein and Dr. Seuss. So I hit up the Poetry Foundation. I'll be gathering things from there (and taking suggestions! hint, hint!) for another week or so until I'm ready to kick off our big poetry unit, but this is my favorite that I found today. It immediately reminded me of a Rilke poem I read on the very first day of my internship last year, and that made me smile.
Blueprints?
By Sara Holbrook
Will my ears grow long as Grandpa's?
What makes us look like kin?
Tell me where'd I get long eyelashes
and where'd I get my chin?
Where'd I get my ice cream sweet tooth
and this nose that wiggles when I talk?
Where'd I get my dizzy daydreams
and my foot-rolling, side-step walk?
Did I inherit my sense of humor
and these crooked, ugly toes?
What if I balloon like Uncle Harry
and have to shave my nose?
How long after I start growing
until I start to shrink?
Am I going to lose my teeth,
some day?
My hair?
My mind?
Do you think
I'll be tall or short or thin
or bursting at the seams?
Am I naturally this crazy?
Is it something in my genes?
I'm more than
who I am,
I'm also
who I'm from.
It's a scary speculation--
Who will I become?
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Another day, another cop-out...
Better day at work, good (hard!) workout after, then a delicious dinner and movie night w/A. means no time for poetry. I feel a bout of inspiration coming on this weekend, though. :)
Speaking of movies, we shared one of my favorites tonight: American Psycho. It was a big part of my high school years, so it was fun to re-visit. I think it's quickly become a favorite of someone else's, too. Movies are a big thing for us, so I did a speedy search and found this poem. I rather liked it, so I'll share it with you.
The Film
by Kate Northrup
Come, let’s go in.
The ticket-taker
has shyly grinned
and it’s almost time,
Lovely One.
Let’s go in.
The wind tonight’s too wild.
The sky too deep,
too thin. Already it’s time.
The lights have dimmed.
Come, Loveliest.
Let’s go in
and know these bodies
we do not have to own, passing
quietly as dreams, as snow.
Already leaves are falling
and music begins.
Lovely One,
it’s time.
Let’s go in.
Speaking of movies, we shared one of my favorites tonight: American Psycho. It was a big part of my high school years, so it was fun to re-visit. I think it's quickly become a favorite of someone else's, too. Movies are a big thing for us, so I did a speedy search and found this poem. I rather liked it, so I'll share it with you.
The Film
by Kate Northrup
Come, let’s go in.
The ticket-taker
has shyly grinned
and it’s almost time,
Lovely One.
Let’s go in.
The wind tonight’s too wild.
The sky too deep,
too thin. Already it’s time.
The lights have dimmed.
Come, Loveliest.
Let’s go in
and know these bodies
we do not have to own, passing
quietly as dreams, as snow.
Already leaves are falling
and music begins.
Lovely One,
it’s time.
Let’s go in.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
See Spot Read
I needed something goofy tonight. I needed something to remind me of good, warm, happy things tonight. Work is becoming almost more than I can bear right now, but after A. reminded me about his favorite poet, I discovered this and was reminded that if nothing else, I can count on enjoying my new metaphorical puppy, and that's enough to get me through.
Falling in love is like owning a dog
an epithalamion by Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.
Falling in love is like owning a dog
an epithalamion by Taylor Mali
www.taylormali.com
First of all, it's a big responsibility,
especially in a city like New York.
So think long and hard before deciding on love.
On the other hand, love gives you a sense of security:
when you're walking down the street late at night
and you have a leash on love
ain't no one going to mess with you.
Because crooks and muggers think love is unpredictable.
Who knows what love could do in its own defense?
On cold winter nights, love is warm.
It lies between you and lives and breathes
and makes funny noises.
Love wakes you up all hours of the night with its needs.
It needs to be fed so it will grow and stay healthy.
Love doesn't like being left alone for long.
But come home and love is always happy to see you.
It may break a few things accidentally in its passion for life,
but you can never be mad at love for long.
Is love good all the time? No! No!
Love can be bad. Bad, love, bad! Very bad love.
Love makes messes.
Love leaves you little surprises here and there.
Love needs lots of cleaning up after.
Sometimes you just want to get love fixed.
Sometimes you want to roll up a piece of newspaper
and swat love on the nose,
not so much to cause pain,
just to let love know Don't you ever do that again!
Sometimes love just wants to go for a nice long walk.
Because love loves exercise.
It runs you around the block and leaves you panting.
It pulls you in several different directions at once,
or winds around and around you
until you're all wound up and can't move.
But love makes you meet people wherever you go.
People who have nothing in common but love
stop and talk to each other on the street.
Throw things away and love will bring them back,
again, and again, and again.
But most of all, love needs love, lots of it.
And in return, love loves you and never stops.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Bedtime again
It snuck up on me - dinner with a friend ran long (did I really expect anything else?), and I didn't even think about this until somewhere on K10 as 10pm approached. But, the first thing I found on the Poetry Foundation seems to fit well with much of the conversation had between two young teachers at dinner.
Easier said than done, Lizzie, but I'll keep giving it my best shot.
On Education
By Elizabeth Bentley 1767–1839
December 1789
When infant Reason first exerts her sway,
And new-formed thoughts their earliest charms display;
Then let the growing race employ your care
Then guard their opening minds from Folly’s snare;
Correct the rising passions of their youth,
Teach them each serious, each important truth;
Plant heavenly virtue in the tender breast,
Destroy each vice that might its growth molest;
Point out betimes the course they should pursue;
Then with redoubled pleasure shall you view
Their reason strengthen as their years increase,
Their virtue ripen and their follies cease;
Like corn sown early in the fertile soil,
The richest harvest shall repay your toil.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182498
Easier said than done, Lizzie, but I'll keep giving it my best shot.
On Education
By Elizabeth Bentley 1767–1839
December 1789
When infant Reason first exerts her sway,
And new-formed thoughts their earliest charms display;
Then let the growing race employ your care
Then guard their opening minds from Folly’s snare;
Correct the rising passions of their youth,
Teach them each serious, each important truth;
Plant heavenly virtue in the tender breast,
Destroy each vice that might its growth molest;
Point out betimes the course they should pursue;
Then with redoubled pleasure shall you view
Their reason strengthen as their years increase,
Their virtue ripen and their follies cease;
Like corn sown early in the fertile soil,
The richest harvest shall repay your toil.
http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/182498
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Lazy Sundays past
Surprise, surprise... while my beloved is exponentially more skilled than me in the kitchen, he is equally as clumsy and accident-prone as I. His stand mixer decided to fight back one day a few months ago, and the result was a lot of laughter and a good image for a tiny poem.
Powdered sugar smoke floats
past a worn door, framing
a glittering spiderweb
in the afternoon sun.
April 10, 2011
Powdered sugar smoke floats
past a worn door, framing
a glittering spiderweb
in the afternoon sun.
April 10, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
This home is not a house
This one has been almost a whole year in the making (location/space/place ring a bell?), but today was the first day I tried to put it all together. It also still needs a title. All suggestions/criticisms welcome.
Ahh, home, let me come home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Ahh, home, let me come home
Home is when I’m alone with you
- Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Kindergartners discuss the word “home”
as a concrete object: a noun with one definition.
Names and numbers are recited,
shaky hands draw pictures with firm boundaries.
Home is what’s then hung on the refrigerator,
a stable place of safety.
Over time, that concept broadens - as many do -
from a simple shelter to a complex abstraction
full of ambiguity and desire
as the search for familiarity begins.
What makes the picture complete?
A certain color carpet or style of chandelier,
furniture swiped from garage or basement,
or windows that gaze onto a landscape full of possibility?
“Home” now demands more than materials –
more than the predictable pattern of potholes
leading back from the grocery store,
more than the drone of ceiling fans
or a collection of comforting objects.
That esteemed title is reserved for moments –
wrapped in the span of broad shoulders,
surrounded by the sound of dueling heartbeats,
indifferent to location beyond arms’ reach.
The details will fall into a particular place
which may be carved out in Crayola years from now,
but for now, the search is over.
April 9, 2011
Ahh, home, let me come home
Home is whenever I’m with you
Ahh, home, let me come home
Home is when I’m alone with you
- Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros
Kindergartners discuss the word “home”
as a concrete object: a noun with one definition.
Names and numbers are recited,
shaky hands draw pictures with firm boundaries.
Home is what’s then hung on the refrigerator,
a stable place of safety.
Over time, that concept broadens - as many do -
from a simple shelter to a complex abstraction
full of ambiguity and desire
as the search for familiarity begins.
What makes the picture complete?
A certain color carpet or style of chandelier,
furniture swiped from garage or basement,
or windows that gaze onto a landscape full of possibility?
“Home” now demands more than materials –
more than the predictable pattern of potholes
leading back from the grocery store,
more than the drone of ceiling fans
or a collection of comforting objects.
That esteemed title is reserved for moments –
wrapped in the span of broad shoulders,
surrounded by the sound of dueling heartbeats,
indifferent to location beyond arms’ reach.
The details will fall into a particular place
which may be carved out in Crayola years from now,
but for now, the search is over.
April 9, 2011
It's still the 8th somewhere...
Poetry challenge fail. But, today was not a fail. I gave this day to myself, and though I spent part of it grading and part of it reading work emails (they seem so much more ridiculous when you're not actually there...), I needed this day. Time spent at a coffee shop, grocery shopping while it's still light out, and an EXCELLENT show by my beloved Hearts of Darkness (you all missed out), amongst other fun things, filled my day.
So, poetry took a little backseat, but I have a feeling it will return with a vengeance tomorrow. The forecast says 90 degrees, and my schedule is nearly empty. Awesome.
To quickly fill today's (yesterday's) slot, here is what I got as the first result when I googled "poem." It's actually pretty fitting for what I hope tomorrow will bring. For now, good night.
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
So, poetry took a little backseat, but I have a feeling it will return with a vengeance tomorrow. The forecast says 90 degrees, and my schedule is nearly empty. Awesome.
To quickly fill today's (yesterday's) slot, here is what I got as the first result when I googled "poem." It's actually pretty fitting for what I hope tomorrow will bring. For now, good night.
"I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud"
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed---and gazed---but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
William Wordsworth
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